The Scales
by NoteEmmy
Summary: Malik finds himself in trouble after getting into an accident. Will a loyal old Priest allow him home?


There would never be any greater thrill than pushing his bike to its absolute limits. The only time Malik could ride his bike as dangerously as he liked to was late at night. He could only drive down more abandoned parts of the city where the roar of the engine wouldn't wake up residents- at least not ones that would call the police. There had to be no chance that he would be caught. It wasn't that he liked disobeying the law, but sometimes he just needed to get out there. Sometimes he just needed to get on his bike, rev the engine, and take down the streets. Usually these needs came during stressful times. His head wasn't as clear as he barreled down the sharp twists and turns of the back streets.

That's what riding the bike was for. It was supposed to help him. Usually it did.

The problem with firing down such abandoned areas in order to escape being caught was the problem of no help should something ever happen. He never entertained the idea that anything ever would. He never told anyone about these excursions either, knowing that someone might. It would have all been hearsay anyway. No one knew his bike like he did. No one knew the grinding of the motor or how the metal bent slightly in his hands when he went down an extremely sharp turn. No one knew what he was really capable of, so there was no point in letting anyone get worked up over it. He didn't want to hear it.

All of it was a recipe for disaster.

Malik left his bike shop that night around three in the morning. The moon was high, illuminating the Domino City streets nicely through the breaks between buildings. He forwent his helmet, even, having just gotten off an aggravating phone call with his sister. She wanted him to come "home". No place was home. No place would ever feel like home. Only sitting on his bike did he even come close to that feeling. He knew Ishizu meant well but she just had a way about her sometimes that dug into his shortest nerve. Later he'd apologize for his behavior, but right now all he wanted to do was ride.

The engine roared to life and he kicked into high gear without a second thought. The sound echoed through the quiet streets, even more so down the more dead parts of the city. He took every twist and turn that he could before breaking into a straight away. His eyes closed for just a second. He wanted to breathe in the air as it pummeled him, as it whipped about his face and assaulted his body with such a high speed.

It would only take a second too long; once those violet eyes opened again he realized he was heading straight on into a building placed awkwardly at the start of a new sidewalk. The corner seemed to come out of nowhere so suddenly. Instinct kicked in far before panic. He twisted the handles sharply, the bike careening on its side before smacking into the brick; throwing him through a large bay window just above where the wheels were still digging in. The sound of glass shattering was nowhere near as loud as the crunching and protesting of his bike as it continued trying to move past an impenetrably obstacle with forward momentum.

Everything slowed.

Then everything stopped.

There was surprisingly no pain, just a light warmth that seemed to pulsate in him before growing more and more. He breathed a sigh of relief before he even realized why. When he opened his eyes next he was blinding by a searing white light. He was no longer lying down on that broken floor, instead standing with a hand to his eyes. He couldn't adjust and before he could speak, someone instead spoke to him.

"Malik Ishtar."

He peered between the cracks in his fingers, a large and broad frame appearing in shadow. It held something up to him, something that was not immediately recognizable.

"Who's there?" It sounded like a dumb question but it was all that came to his mind. When a more relevant one appeared, 'where am I', it was already too late to speak.

The figure came forward, the shadow around his face dying down to reveal someone that he didn't know. "I am a servant of the Pharaoh." The object was held up again and Malik focused a bit more intently on it.

When he realized what it was he froze.

A set of golden scales. Immediately his hand rose up to his chest and he felt a large crater- a cavity of missing space where he knew his heart should have been residing. Panic set in. "No- …no!"

It was not that he was about to be judged, surely he couldn't have been scared of failing such a trial after all he'd been through. It was finally that he realized that crash had happened- it had taken his life from him. He was about to be **judged**, and that could have only meant that his life had come to a final stop.

"I have asked permission from Ma'at to be able to preform this trial."

"You can't!" He wasn't sure what he was arguing; that he could not be judged, that this stranger could not take the task away from the Goddess it belonged to, more probably that he couldn't take his life from him.

The man with the deep set blue eyes raised his head sharply, black fringe of bangs shaking with the harsh movement. "I am Priest Kalim! I will not let someone unworthy tread into the resting place of my Pharaoh!" He proclaimed so suddenly that it took the air right from Malik's lungs.

The protests died, no longer important. After all of their travels, had Atem deemed him unworthy? Had he sent someone from his personal Court to keep him from entering? Strangely there was no anger, only sadness touched with fear. How had it all come to this?

Kalim watched carefully, frowning for the first time. The child standing before him was anxious- but the reaction was a good one. If he could see past his yelling over the inevitable, maybe he was worthy enough. "…but we will let the scales decide." The thought followed aloud.

Malik eyed him, then the scales. A breath was drawn in, shaking at first but released slowly. He squared his shoulders, head held high. "I am Malik Ishtar, of the clan of the tomb keepers. I have no proclamation for you." He'd made his fair share of wrongdoings, there was no denying that. He couldn't even begin to try. He accepted what he'd done. If his long journey of said acceptance ended here, he'd have to be happy with it. Goddess or not, the scales would not lie.

He was going to witness if all his hard work would be for nothing.

The Priest found a smirk. "Brave child." He could respect such a quick transformation. Not many met death so quickly, not many were so ready to be judged.

With the feather set the scales wavered, Malik's hands clenching at his sides as he fought off shivers of anxiety. They tipped from one side, the heart weighing down the feather. His breath held. Then they shifted back, slowly, as if all the weight of his good deeds was piling on after his most obvious bad ones. The cold that gripped his chest was slowly being chased out as that feather lowered on the plate, more and more until the metal clinked at the bottom.

He allowed himself a smile- and was slightly surprised to see this man called Kalim smiling too. "You are indeed worthy."

"Of course." He said, trying to hide whatever self deprecation had been lingering in him, telling him this would not go in his favor. He was worthy. He would go and rest in peace- and eventually, though his time was short, Ishizu would great him too. He'd have a lot of explaining to do and no doubt she would yell at him for probably a good hundred years. It was sad leaving Rishid and her behind, and their friends…

But as the Priest held his hand out he found himself reaching for it so quickly. Their hands locked, the Priest's grip strong.

He was ready.

"Lead the way, Kalim."

"Malik Ishtar, welcome home."


End file.
